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Indy and Mike's Suite
Moon comes to the door, her arms fully of three-week old grey-brown fluffness and knocks.
Mare is by her side, eyes moving between the door and the puppy. The puppy, it should be said, looks like he is not two weeks old, but more like six. He's big and alert and quite happy, squirming in Moon's arms.
She'd promised Indy the puppy, and when she'd seen the little boy among the litter, she'd known this guy was the one meant for Indy.
Moon waits with a big smile on her face, giggling quietly as the puppy licks her chin and nips playfully on occasion.
Mare is by her side, eyes moving between the door and the puppy. The puppy, it should be said, looks like he is not two weeks old, but more like six. He's big and alert and quite happy, squirming in Moon's arms.
She'd promised Indy the puppy, and when she'd seen the little boy among the litter, she'd known this guy was the one meant for Indy.
Moon waits with a big smile on her face, giggling quietly as the puppy licks her chin and nips playfully on occasion.
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"I think he did. Is the duct tape in that hellish junk drawer?"
Moon gives Indy one of her innocent, winning smiles.
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"Where's my congratulatory clap on the back for making a decent pop culture reference?"
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Don't ask where the Jam Gun ranks on the list. You don't want to know.
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"Are there?" She grins. "I've never seen a man duct taped to a ceiling."
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Keeping a wary eye on his roommate, he starts to edge back towards the living room with the little wolf cub nestled in his arms.
"Michael T. Angelo. If I see you make a move for that drawer, the puppy gets it."
Said puppy looks up at Indy questioningly.
"Err... 'it' being a nice loving skritch, most likely," Indy whispers.
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"Well you see, once you get them up there there's really not a whole lot they can do to protect themselves from further torment. I've always been really tempted to paint the punished's hair green, and then give them a big ol' clowny smile, but I figure that'd freak out the ol' Boys in Blue just a little too much, so I never have."
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Grin.
She loves him, else she wouldn't tease.
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"Never gonna happen," he informs the conspiring pair. "I've suffered the pink deal with my clothes already thanks to Baldrick's hilarious April Fool two years ago."
"The hair stays brown, or the hat never ever comes off again."
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"IS THIS HIS WAY OF TELLING US HE WANTS US TO DYE HIS HAT PINK?"
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"OOH, I THINK IT IS."
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...when he just stops, mouth half-open, poised to spew forth a suitably firm warning against touching his beloved fedora. A second or two later, his eyebrows raise happily and he blurts something completely different out instead:
"Brody!"
Name inspiration finally hit him. He laughs in the wake of this eureka moment.
"Of course, how could I've been so stupid. It's gotta be Brody."
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"WHAT DO WE THINK ABOUT BRODY?"
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"TWO SYLLABLES. SO THAT'S GOOD."
She turns to Indy.
"I THINK... I think it's a good name. Much better than Hal. At least Brody isn't a murderous son of a bitch of a computer that will go insane and try to kill you," she says cheerfully.
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"Good! That's settled then."
He looks down at the pup, whose ears are pricked and whose tail is trying to wag happily.
"It's just a name," he tells it. "You don't remind me of him in the slightest. And I know you'd never get lost in your own den."
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Says Mike, with no real indication of who he's actually responding to.
"Stampy. Stampy-baby, you can come out now! Come say hello to Brody!"
There's no response, and really why would there be? There may be power in names and in the naming, but it's certainly not enough to clear the living room of broken bits of glass.